Panic
by Statyck
Summary: Syllyn's day has taken a very unexpected turn, and Kirion regrets his night of drinking.


Panic

Kirion couldn't remember the last time he'd fucked up so royally. He wasn't sure why he thought using the teleporter from Undercity would be a good idea, but for whatever reason his intoxicated mind told him it was the thing to do. He was already in Gilneas, exploring and helping the worgen however he could, and things had settled down. The city had long since been evacuated, and things were quiet on the Forsaken side. He patrolled off and on, but that was it. It hadn't taken long for him to get bored.

Things never went well when he got bored.

While on his rounds with some friends, he decided to investigate the buildings. It was in one of the abandoned inns that he found the ale, and drank to his heart's content. He then got to talking with his companions – one other knight and several worgen soldiers – and one thing led to another. He couldn't fully recall the details of the conversation, but somehow they'd gotten to the subject of Silvermoon. He'd drunkenly said that he always wanted to see Silvermoon, but no sane night elf would ever attempt to go _there_.

It hadn't gotten better.

His friends had jeered and jabbed at him and called him a coward. Sober, Kirion would have laughed along with them. Such petty insults wouldn't have made him blink, but drunk? Drunk Kirion was an entirely different story. He bristled at the taunts, and retorted in slurred and unintelligible words. He slammed down his mug – somehow not breaking it – and stood up. He gallantly declared his intention to sneak into the city that night, and set off to prove to his peers that he was not the utter dolt they accused him of being.

So Kirion had set out for Undercity. It hadn't been that difficult to make it to the entrance. The Forsaken of Tirisfal were nowhere near as powerful as he was, and because he too was technically dead they were none the wiser as long as he kept his distance. The device itself was right by Undercity's front door, and it was left unguarded. No, getting to the translocater was not the issue.

The real problem was the other side.

Little did he know, the twin device let out inside the city and – just his luck – it was the most heavily protected spot in all of Silvermoon. One of the guards had seen him immediately, and upon calling for help summoned a dozen more guards as well as the attention of the most powerful person in Quel'Thalas.

He hadn't realized that he would be deposited in what was essentially Silvermoon's version of a royal quarter.

So Kirion ran. He knew there was no way he could fight those guards – there were simply too many of them – and he did his best not to run down any innocent citizens. He wanted to _see_ the city, not murder the populace. It wasn't too difficult. There were almost no people, and the buildings felt oddly vacant. The walls stood tall and red-stained glass covered various windows, but all were darkened. Crimson and azure veils hung in entryways instead of doors and vendors stood in their stalls, yet the streets remained entirely vacant.

But he could wonder over that later. Right now he needed to get out, and so he mounted up and raced in whatever direction wasn't obstructed by guards.

Finally he'd made it to the gate, and most of the city police had fallen back. They couldn't all abandon their posts just to chase him away, so by the time he made it out into the forest only four continued the pursuit. He raced up the hill and dismounted, praying that they wouldn't find him. Four was a more manageable number, yes, but he was at a slight disadvantage. Not only was he outnumbered, but one of those elves had gotten lucky.

When the translocater had spit him out, the guard had reacted immediately. He'd lashed out with his sword and Kirion, having been immensely drunk, didn't move fast enough to defend himself. The wound had chased away much of the alcohol-induced haze, replacing it with a sharp sense of urgency. That was when it really hit him: if he didn't move fast he was as good as dead. He was nursing a nasty gash in his side and had been for the entire chase. Though he was powerful enough on his own, city guards were not to be taken lightly. Only the best of the best were permitted into such positions and that was a universal truth, not just in the Alliance but the Horde as well.

He dashed behind a series of boulders and listened for them. It sounded like they were beginning to move away, and he allowed himself a small exhale of relief.

Well, at least he'd gotten to see Silvermoon.

/*\

Syllyn had no idea what to do. By all rights she should kill him, she knew that, but she also knew that she would do no such thing.

Rogues were trained for stealth after all, and the man stood right in front of her. His eyes tracked her every move, and he was definitely more powerful than she was. His armor looked to be extremely high quality, and his weaponry equally so. A helm had been left abandoned at his feet, and it seemed as though the shadows themselves clung to his person. If she tried to fight, she would not win. At least not under normal circumstances.

The wound was the first thing she noticed. Blood trickled down his armor and stained a small portion of the grass red. His hand clutched at the wound, and he was leaning heavily on the boulder behind him. He might be able to defend himself for a few blows, but if she really tried hard enough she could very well land the fatal strike. Yet she didn't.

"What the hell?" She squeaked, baffled. She had watched him run from the guards as he exited the capital of Quel'Thalas. Why had he chosen to attack alone? How had he even gotten into the city? She had several questions – mostly for herself on what to do – but she couldn't exactly ask. The man raised one blue eyebrow at her and responded in Orcish.

"I can't speak Thalassian." He said. She jumped. She hadn't really been expecting an answer, and in a language she could understand no less.

"Well excuse me." She scathingly answered, switching the tongue. "It's not every day I run into kal'dorei in Eversong." He shrugged but did not reply.

Syllyn had watched this man run from the Shepherds Gate as four guards pursued him. He had nearly run her down on the back of what looked to be a gryphon – she wasn't sure, she'd been too busy jumping out of the way – and when she'd looked up again, the guards had chased him up the hill.

Naturally, being curious as to what all the commotion was about, the young rogue had concealed herself within the shadows and snuck her way up into the Living Wood. She pursued the group and found the guards searching the area, while the runner himself had vanished. _They lost him?_ She thought to herself. _I'd better be careful. Whoever that was, they could still be around._ Thinking the chase was over, and being a good while away from home, she had resumed her previous task. She'd been out gathering herbs, and there was a tiny bit of earthroot on top of that boulder over there.

It had been by pure coincidence that she'd found him. She'd nearly landed on him when she slipped off the top of the miniature mountain, trying to pull the stubborn plant from its grip. She'd started to apologize, saying she was sorry up until she got a look at his face.

He was not sin'dorei. He wasn't Forsaken, or an orc, or even a troll. No such luck for her. She leapt up and drew her weapons, ready to fight, when she'd realized he was in no condition to do anything to her.

Thus leaving Syllyn in her current predicament. She had no idea what to do. On the one hand she could kill him, but the longer and longer he stared at her the less plausible that seemed to be. She could just walk away and pretend she never saw him. He plainly wasn't in any condition to be terrorizing the residents of Eversong. She could just go and let the guards find him.

However, it seemed the world would not be so kind. She had spent so much time mulling over her options that the universe had decided to make the choice for her.

"Have we checked that way yet?" One of the guards called out, breaking her out of her reverie. It didn't take a minute for her to figure out they were heading this direction. She had to do something, anything. Now. If they found her just standing with an enemy talking, there would be hell to pay. Her head swung back to the night elf, a look of sheer terror marring her features.

She grabbed the Darnassians wrist, and pulled him away from the scene.

/*\

"I think that bird thing may have made the wound worse." Kirion growled.

"That 'bird thing,'" the woman answered, stroking the creatures face "saved your good-for-nothing life, kal'dorei."

The knight scoffed, but said nothing more. The woman had helped him, that was for certain, but he wasn't quite sure why. If he hadn't been wounded he would have killed her in an instant. He let his gaze wander, taking in his new surroundings.

She'd toted him to a set of ruins. It was out in the middle of what she called the "Dead Scar". It was a strip of land a few hundred miles long, it seemed, and about one mile wide. To the east was a small decrepit building – plainly destroyed by the creatures around it – and that was where she hid him. She'd left him in the custody of the large bird and took her knives to anything that moved.

He watched, unentertained. Her form was far from clean and her blades were a bit dull, but she was getting the job done. Slowly but surely she cleared out the little building, and once she was finished she beckoned for her mount to approach. The creature raced forward, nearly throwing him off its back, but he made it in. She barricaded the entrance with stray bits of broken furniture, and lit up a rusted brazier.

"So, what's a kal'dorei doing in Eversong?" The woman inquired casually, readying her bedroll and pulling several blankets from the bag on her saddle. He thought about lying, or just not telling her at all. He could tell her to piss off, but then she could choose to throw him out to the Scourge outside. He considered lying, but the truth wasn't exactly incriminating in itself.

"Would you believe me if I said it was just a drunken dare?" He answered. She tilted her head, considering him.

"You do smell of alcohol." She said, the syllables slow in coming. "What is your name?"

"What's yours?" He responded.

"I asked first." She growled.

For a moment nothing happened, but Kirion remained stubborn. He might have been at her mercy, but he wasn't at her beck and call. He would not be complacent and he would not merely bend to her will. Eventually she sighed.

"Fine, don't tell me." She said. Then she dug around in her bag some more and handed him a pair of bottles. Healing potions. He was tempted, tempted to just down them both and bolt. He wasn't sure if he wanted to kill her or not. On the one hand, she hadn't actually done anything to him. On the other, he did not want anyone to find out about this. The fact that he'd needed her help was embarrassing enough, and if people found out about it? It would ruin him.

But before all that, something else took precedence. One thing was certain: he wanted out. First, though, first he wanted to know.

"Why did you help me?" He asked. She froze. She glared down at the fire, her teeth clamping down on her lip. Her gaze turned to him and she shrugged.

"I don't know." She said. She tossed him a blanket and turned back around. "It gets cold during the night, you'll want that."

He didn't really. The cold didn't exactly bother the dead, but at the same time she didn't seem to understand that he wasn't technically alive. He thought his armor would have given him away instantly, but then this girl seemed to be very young. Her leathers were fairly basic, and her two daggers looked like apprentice work. She probably hadn't ever been anywhere outside this forest.

No. He would not kill her, but he would leave her with a warning.

/*\

The night elf had asked a very good question. Syllyn herself wasn't sure why she'd saved him. She'd been startled, that was certain, but she still hesitated. Disposing of the Scourge and the Wretched was one thing. They were too far gone to be saved and they did more harm than good. She was making things better for people.

Yet somehow more sentient enemies were difficult. She had faced Alliance lackeys on the battlefield, invading night elves to the west and in the Ghostlands, but the thought alone could always make her stomach hurt. She was under no illusion: the Horde had absolutely committed injustices against the Alliance. Many of these people had the right to seek some kind of revenge. They all had families waiting for them back home – parents, spouses, and children – and each death created more pain and suffering and a desire for vengeance whether it was this side or the other. Her father had died fighting the Alliance, and though she still wanted her own revenge against the man who did it she also knew that she would never even wish that on someone else. Nobody deserved it, especially not the children the war left orphaned.

Her mother had told her time and again that she was too compassionate. She felt too deeply, she had too much empathy. Her mother always worried that her kindness would one day get her hurt. The blood elf shot a sideways look at her new 'friend'. Perhaps her mother was right.

The kal'dorei was powerful. She could tell that much, and for now she might be capable of defending herself if he got it in his head that he wanted to hurt her. As of yet he didn't seem malicious, but if she let him heal up he would regain his power and she wouldn't stand a chance. She would be entirely at his mercy. All the same, she couldn't resist the urge to speak up.

"Let me check your wound." She said. She walked over with the medical supplies, but he flinched when she fell to her knees. "You don't want me to?" He tilted his head at her.

"You are a blood elf. What could you possibly hope to gain from helping me?" He questioned. She shrugged.

"I help lots of people. Even if you're a night elf, I don't think you deserve to die for drunken stupidity." With that she began unlacing his plate, and though he watched her carefully he made no further protest.

"No?" He said.

"No. You deserve to die if your intent is to harm, but as of yet I see no evidence of that." She lightly placed his armor to the side, careful not to scratch it, and began snipping at the cloth of his shirt.

"You're naïve." He stated.

"Maybe, but even so I'm still alive aren't I?" She asked. She prepped the needle and thread.

"How do you know I wasn't lying?" He asked. For a moment she stopped, and looked up at his face. He was almost pretty, the Darnassian. He was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. His skin was a pale shade of blue, as opposed to her own near sickly complexion. His nose came to a borderline feminine point, and his mouth was curved in a frown. His eyebrows were bushy, and not as long as hers, but his _ears._ His ears were much longer than any blood elf, and slanted down instead of pointing up. His hair hung in a thick indigo curtain down his shoulders, and she hadn't known that eyes could shine so brightly gold.

Perhaps that was why she'd saved him. He was intriguing. A bright flash of color in a dull and uninteresting forest.

"I don't." she answered. "But either way the damage is done. I've let you recuperate enough that you could easily overpower me if you wanted. I've left supplies at your disposal, and even my mount if it suited you to take her." She used her chin to gesture at the hawkstrider to her side, now laying down with its head on her pillow. "If you want to kill me you can. I won't just lie down and die for you, but ultimately I think that's a fight you would win. If either of us should be worried, it's definitely me." She paused. "But if it's worth anything, please don't make me regret this."

Then without any warning she stuck the needle in his side, and he hissed. Syllyn couldn't stop the smirk on her face. No, she had no interest in legitimately harming him, but his words left her perturbed. It had never occurred to her that he might be lying to her, but now that she thought about it his story did seem a little strange.

But his alibi explained why he'd been in Silvermoon alone, and why his clothes were seemingly doused in cheap beer. She could mull over it all she wanted, but in the end she had no way of knowing. She muttered apologies with every wince as she laced the suture through his skin, pulling it back together before knotting the thread and moving on to the next stitch. She kept her eyes focused on her task before the Darnassian spoke again.

/*\

"If it makes you feel any better," Kirion said, "I have no intention of killing you."

"Thank you." The blood elf said. "The stitches are done. As long as you keep it clean, the wound should heal up fine."

"I know how stitches work." Kirion responded. "Relax." She rolled her eyes at him and stood up, walking to her bedroll. She was tiny, the blood elf. Though night elf women were slender and lithe, the sin'dorei were even more so. She stood at the height of a child, and though she was definitely young the subtle curves of her hips and chest told him that she was most likely fully grown. He didn't know. Blood elves were nowhere near as voluptuous as night elves, so her appearance would be no indicator of her age, but she spoke eloquently and reasonably. She was old enough that she was out running errands for other people and fighting domestic enemies, but young enough that she still hadn't left her homelands.

"How old are you?" He asked, his deep voice soft in the firelight. She hesitated.

"Nineteen." She finally answered. "You?"

"Two thousand four hundred and eighty one." He chuckled at her startled expression. "I was once immortal. I stopped aging at twenty."

"Damn," she squeaked, "the longest I can hope for is three hundred." Then everything fell silent.

"No questions?" Kirion asked, a little surprised. Though her motives might have been a little confusing at first, her behavior dropped hints. She was definitely afraid of him, which was common sense for someone like her, but something else seemed to win out. She had stared at him very intently. Did she find him attractive? Maybe, but people didn't tend to have those thoughts about their mortal enemies. That wasn't a good enough reason to save his life. Perhaps she was curious? The more and more he studied her the more probable that theory seemed.

Which was why he was surprised when she didn't jump on the bait.

"I have many questions." She said. "I'm just not sure if they're safe to ask." Reasonable. Stupid to tell him, but reasonable.

"Fair enough." Short. Dismissive. Perhaps if he offered little information she might ask for it. Questions could reveal as much about the one asking as the one being asked. It might take a moment for her to steel up the nerve, but he could wait.

"How long do the kal'dorei usually live?" Her small voice was as soft as it was eager, and in that moment he knew. She wasn't going to kill him in his sleep, she wasn't plotting anything nefarious. She was simply, innocently, curious.

"When we were immortal, we lived to be about twenty five thousand years old. I am relatively young for my kind. Now that we no longer have our immortality, I'm not sure." He admitted. She leaned forward, staring intently over the fire.

"But if there's an average lifespan, doesn't that mean you weren't actually immortal?"

"Living forever can take a serious toll. Though old age was not an issue, we did indeed have other problems. Sometimes it lead to dementia. Some cannot take the passage of time and commit suicide. It really depends on the person." Her eyes widened.

"Oh." She murmured. "Where did you learn to speak Orcish?"

"Well…" And so the night continued. The moon rose and fell and the girl asked the man whatever questions she could think of. She asked about his travels, his experiences. He told her of Northrend and Stormwind. He told her about the islands of Pandaria, and she was especially intrigued by the notion of Nordrassil and Teldrassil. He didn't tell her everything of course, but enough to sate her. Kirion found that he didn't particularly mind talking to this girl. She was actually very good company, maybe even someone he'd have liked to take on his travels with him. She was bright and energetic, and with some more combat training she had the potential to be something great. But unfortunately that wasn't an option, and the throbbing in his side had dulled.

/*\

Syllyn could see the faintest flicker of the sun beginning to rise from the barricaded entrance. Dawn was soon approaching, and she needed to figure out what to do. The rogue yawned and slumped her shoulders, though she kept her bright green eyes carefully focused on the night elf before her. She wasn't stupid. Though she had been legitimately curious, she knew that falling asleep would be a bad idea. The questions had helped to distract her from her growing exhaustion, but now that day was coming what was she to do?

The Darnassian had downed the healing potions shortly after she'd finished the stitches. The flesh had mostly sealed back together and it wouldn't be long before he could remove the suture. She could feel the icy press of his magic against her person, raising the fine hairs at the base of her skull. Was he a mage? No, he couldn't be a mage. Mages didn't wear plate. In the midst of her confusion, one thing was certain, he was feeling better. He was going to do something, soon, but she didn't know what or when.

"You look awfully tense." He remarked. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." She responded curtly. She forced herself to stand up, and moved towards the hawkstrider. It chirped in greeting as she lifted the flap of the bag. "Just needed some water." She could feel his eyes bore into her as she lifted the cask to her lips. As soon as she replaced the top she felt something cold and sharp press into her neck.

She wasn't surprised.

/*\

Kirion hadn't been lying. He wasn't going to kill her, but there was no reason for her to know that just yet. He held the knife to her neck, careful not to actually nick her with the blade. She did not shrink in on herself, but he could feel her shaking. He was scaring her. Good.

"So much for 'I'm not going to kill you.'" She muttered, voice even. Kirion wanted to laugh, but now was not the time. He admired her spirit, but he had a lesson to teach.

"I don't want much from you." He murmured. "But if you don't do as I say, you will regret it."

"Then tell me: what do you want?" She hissed. Now came the tricky part.

"Remove your cloak." He commanded, and she did without protest. She untied the strip of cloth around her neck, and let her hooded cape fall to the ground. Silver hair spilled down nearly to the floor, and the night elf lightly pulled it aside. It was awfully soft, for belonging to someone who spent so much time in the wilderness. Kirion then let his free hand snake around her waist, and he grabbed ahold of her belt. Immediately she jerked back, a startled whimper escaping her lips, but the man only pressed the knife closer. The giant red bird squawked and darted to the other side of the room, carefully watching its master and her captor.

"Shh." He whispered. "Relax."

"What are you going to do to me?" She asked, her voice breaking on the final syllable. He did not answer, only resuming his prior task, and pulled at the leather strip. He tossed it aside with her blades, and his fingertips came to rest back on her exposed hip. Female armor was strange. There were so many pieces that left the midriff entirely exposed. Each time he saw a woman wearing a vest or harness, he couldn't help but wonder how they weren't dead. He leaned his head forward, invading her space, and let his hand trail up her stomach and ribs.

At this point he could see the shallow rise and fall of her chest, and he was certain he caught a tear reflecting colors from the firelight, but he would not relent. Not just yet.

He let his hand wander around a little longer, waiting, searching. It wasn't until his fingers began to play with the waistband of her leather leggings that he'd gotten what he wanted. Her body shook like a branch in a storm and a faint sob escaped her lips. He dropped the knife. He wrapped his arms around her chest and waist and then he finally spoke.

"Hey." He said. "It's okay." But it was plain she didn't hear him. As soon as he'd restrained her, she began thrashing in his grip. She kicked and screamed and yelled for him to release her, that she'd rather die than let him touch her, but the sad truth was that she simply wasn't strong enough. She had been correct in her assumption that he would win the confrontation. It was nothing for him to hold on to her until she tired herself out, and she had brought him someplace isolated enough that no living being heard her scream. They were all alone.

Finally she stopped. Her exhausted fingers pried uselessly at his forearm, and her legs had grown still. Her sobs had quieted and her muscles couldn't even muster up the energy to shake anymore. She was leaning into him and her breathing deepened. He could feel the wetness of her tears dripping onto his forearm. He sighed.

"Shh," he said, "I'm not going to hurt you. I swear. I just wanted to make a point."

"Being?" She choked out.

"Your kindness betrayed you. Our races are enemies, and though I appreciate what you did for me you cannot forget that." Kirion said this with all the gentleness in the world. He lightly tucked the girl's hair behind her pointed ear and loosened his hold just a tad.

"Why even bother?" She asked. "What is it to you if someone else decides to kill me?" He paused.

"There is so little good left in this world. You are very young, and this encounter leads me to believe that you are also very inexperienced at dealing with the Alliance. I would hate to think that something happened to you because you chose to show mercy to the wrong person." He stated. She scoffed.

"You sound like my mother." She retorted bitterly. "If we are enemies then act like it." He tilted his head at her, considering her.

"You would prefer I put my knife through your throat?" He asked seriously. She turned her head to the side, grimacing, but said nothing. "I do not consider you my enemy. If I ever see you again – on the battlefield or otherwise – I will not harm you. However if you catch the wrath of those around me I will not help you. The next time you see anyone like me, or any member of the Alliance for that matter, do not show sympathy. Cut them down before they can do so to you. Remember what you felt today, the terror and the anger, and know that anyone else would have continued." He waited for her response. For a moment everything was still. Her arms dropped and she leaned further in to him. Peering around at her face he found that she had closed her eyes, and her lips had slightly parted.

"You would encourage me to murder your allies? Your friends, possibly your family, all for the sake of my own survival?" She finally asked. He nodded.

"Yes." He stated. "Do whatever you can to live. Don't give others the benefit of the doubt. It will get you killed."

"But wouldn't that destroy the very reason you wish to spare me? If my blind compassion is the reason you want me to live, then isn't it counterintuitive to tell me to abandon it?" To this he said nothing.

/*\

The silence had grown cold.

"Do you think that we'll ever see each other again? Even if just on the battlefield?" Syllyn mused. She could feel the Darnassian shrug behind her.

"Fate threw us together for a night, perhaps she may choose to do so again." He responded. The girl laughed, but she did not sound amused.

"I hope not." She said. "I would hate for my efforts here to go to waste. It was not easy to get those potions." Then she was silent for a moment. "I should want to kill you, to hurt you, for the humiliation you have just forced on me. I can't even find it in myself to feel resentful." She could almost hear the man's smirk.

"Well I _am_ fairly charming." He lilted. Syllyn couldn't help but snort. How absurd. This man feigns an attack, and now he was flirting? The situation felt so odd, so surreal, that she couldn't help but to play along, even for just a second.

"Oh, so you're one of _those_ are you?" She giggled, and then sighed. She was still leaning on the night elf, and he was letting her. She wondered why he felt so cold. Perhaps it was his ice magic?

"When you get to be two thousand years old, you learn a lot of things. For instance: how to tell when a pretty blood elf is ogling you." He teased. She snorted.

"Tell me, what is your name kal'dorei?" She asked, her voice soft.

"Tell me, what is _your_ name sin'dorei?" He countered.

"You've just pretended to attack me in a dramatic show of why I should not trust you. I'm not telling you my name." She drawled. She was so tired, and he wasn't answering her. She could go to sleep, just like this, if it wasn't for the fact that the man behind her had been holding a knife at her throat not twenty minutes ago. Yet she could still feel her drowsiness grow. She stared into the fire, forcing her eyes to stay open.

"Kirion." The man whispered. "My name is Kirion."

"Kirion." She repeated. "I'd say it was nice to meet you, but it really wasn't."

/*\

When Kirion walked back into the bar, the soldiers vaulted up from their seats.

"Holy shit, you're alive!" One of the worgen had exclaimed. The others stared at him incredulously.

"Yes, I am. Hey Jameson." He called out. The other knight glanced at him. "Don't ever let me do anything like that again."

"I make no promises." The human man smirked. "It was awfully entertaining, watching you take off in a huff. It vaguely reminded me of my wife when she's in a mood." Kirion rolled his eyes.

"Everything reminds you of your wife in a mood." He retorted. "But yes I'm alive, and even better, I come bearing a tale of Silvermoon."

It wasn't long until the soldiers were on him like inquisitive children. For nearly an hour he relived his night, telling curious minds of his adventure. The towering walls, the absence of people, all of it. Though it was only a fraction of what had happened, he managed to regale them with his narrative of Silvermoon and his outrunning the police force. They sat there enthralled until the sounds of battle reached their ears. It was to be expected, the Forsaken weren't going to just sit there doing nothing forever. The soldiers shifted into their wolfish forms and swarmed out of the inn, going out to fight for what was left of their city. Kirion was prepared to follow when a hand touched his shoulder. He turned and found Jameson staring at him intently.

"You should know that I used what was left of my scrying abilities to find out what happened to you." Kirion's eyes narrowed.

"And what do you think of what you saw?"

"Well I only saw bits and pieces. I know you didn't actually rape her, that's not something you would do. However I must ask: Why did you let her live?" The human asked. Kirion removed his hand and faced him.

"Because she did not deserve to die."

"But she's a blood–"

"I know what she is." The night elf snapped. "In fact, if we're going to make this about race, I should hate her more than you do. But I don't. She saved me, showed me nothing but kindness. Considering how others treat me, now that I'm _this_ , I will not let that go unappreciated." He turned to go back out into the battlefield, but Jameson leaped in front of him.

"Wait, wait." He insisted. "Before you get all huffy, let me tell you this: I won't report you. I agree, her motives were innocent. But I have to ask, you know I do. Did you leak any important information, anything she could report back to the Horde?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all." Kirion sighed.

"I know you told her about Stormwind." Jameson said.

"She wanted to hear of my adventures. She doesn't know how to get in." The night elf responded. "If you want a reason to hunt her down, I will not give it to you. I told her nothing of importance. She saved me because I was new and interesting. Nothing else." The human groaned.

"But I know you told her your name. If she recognizes you, you're done for." The elf forced a laugh.

"Perhaps, but do you have any idea how unlikely it is I'll ever see her again? She spared my life, so I spared hers. Equal trade and all that. If I see her again, I promise you I will treat her as any other enemy." Kirion said. His companion snorted.

"No you won't. I'm dead, not stupid."

"What is it you want me to say, Jameson?" The Darnassian snarled. For a moment all was silent, and then the human man sighed.

"I don't know. Just tell me this, what did you do with her?"

/*\

When Syllyn awoke, she didn't know whether to feel relieved or alarmed. She was sitting in a small hospital within Silvermoon. She was laying down in a cot, and found that someone had removed her leather armor, replacing it with a linen nightgown. She called out for someone, anyone, realizing just how dry her mouth felt. Just what had happened?

An elf dressed in snowy robes answered her call. He knelt beside her and offered her some water, explaining the situation while her bleary eyes took in her surroundings.

Apparently she'd been found by some guards while they were patrolling. She had been passed out in the middle of the road, and they'd assumed she'd been attacked. Upon realizing there were no bodily injuries, their concern had deepened and they brought her into the hospital so that someone could monitor her condition.

"Do you remember anything?" The man asked, searching her face with earnest jade eyes. She sighed and scrunched her brows. There was no way she could tell the truth.

"No." She finally said. "I remember I was out gathering herbs, but after that there's nothing." The priest gazed at her silently for a moment, wearing a neutral expression. He didn't believe her, she could tell, but he still nodded and stood up.

"Understood. We're going to keep you here for a few more days. Stay rested and drink the water. I'll be back to check on you in a few more hours." And the man disappeared.

Never in her life did she feel more utterly embarrassed. She'd let the Darnassian make a fool of her. She knew it, and he certainly knew it too. He was probably laughing at her right now, wherever he was. Assuming he hadn't forgotten her yet.

 _Kirion, eh?_ She thought to herself. _Next time we meet, you won't have such a huge advantage. That alone I promise you._

 **/*\**

 **Damn that was long. R &R?**

 **-Statyck**


End file.
